


"Chum"

by Tvieandli



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-26 23:00:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/655327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tvieandli/pseuds/Tvieandli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not unusual for Batman to call Robin “chum”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Chum"

It’s not unusual for Batman to call Robin “chum” when he’s joking. A good way for Robin to know that he’s not serious because he doesn’t like letting any inflection enter his perfectly sculpted bat-voice.

Jim is used to that. “Chum” means that the fact that he just called Robin an idiot is moot on account of it being a joke. It’s an intentional tell, that’s become so ingrained in him he does it automatically.

Oh how Jim longs for the days he used to fret over who the bat was.

It was a sort of snowballing effect, really. It was something that started when they first met, tiny hints that made no sense then, but slowly manifested until they were picked out and placed together to form a bigger picture that just kept on growing until it started to look like a man.

It had been coming on for a while, but the day he realized it, and he remembers the instant. The exact moment the lights came on, and the picture was zoomed out enough for him to know for sure. For absolute positive who the man he was beginning to see was, and it was with the utterance of the word “chum”.

The day he realized it was at a charity ball. One of the Wayne foundation’s many events that the police commissioner happened to be invited to. Jim hadn’t really liked Bruce Wayne back then. He’d seen the childish womanizing pig he’d been meant to see who occasionally talked to his daughter, and that was just not alright.

He hadn’t liked Bruce, but his kid, that silly little orphan kid he’d taken under his wing for god knows what reasons, Jim had loved his kid. Dick had been a joy since the day Jim had first met him when he was eight years old, and hiding in the manor’s back gardens during a party that the police commissioner just happened to be invited to, crying because he didn’t fit in.

Dick had been the first real piece in the puzzle. He’d been the thing to turn Jim even slightly in the direction of Bruce Wayne.

At this particular charity ball, Jim just happened to be standing within ear shot, when Bruce clapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder, and said, “You’re a right ladies man, chum.” And the two of them standing like that, side by side, one of Bruce’s hands on one of Dick’s shoulders, as Dick looked up at him with the kind of adoring admiration that says “I’m going to be you when I grow up” the way Barbara had said it when she was three and four, and used to play “police cop”. That image was suddenly the exact same image, except the room was dark, and they were Batman and Robin. Clear as day.

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jim longs for the days of the bat being a mystery wrapped in an enigma wrapped inside a mystery.

He remembers the sudden swell of the floor, how he was thrown off balance, having to clutch at the bar for support, and the way Bruce’s eyes snapped up, as if he’d been keeping tabs the whole time. He remembers Bruce moving toward him, obvious concern in his billionaire playboy visage, absolute panic beneath the mask, hiding in the eyes of the bat that Jim had come to know over the last ten years.

He remembers comparing how Bruce Wayne moved as opposed to the Bat in that moment, and finding all of Batman hidden, and controlled beneath this flaunting, overly pompous creature who had sudden, and surprising fits of generosity, despite his narcissistic tendencies.

He remembers trying not to vomit, the thinly veiled questions aimed at eliminating possible toxins, the way that Bruce gripped his elbow instead of patting him on the back like most people would.

He remembers the orders barked at Dick, and Dick’s prompt response, like a trained dog.

And he remembers the overwhelming feeling that Gotham was swallowing him alive again. The sudden burden placed on his chest the weight Atlas carried on his shoulders when he held the world, but this was Batman, and in that moment Batman seemed so much larger than the entirety of everything else put together.

“It’s fine,” Jim had said, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I must have had too much to drink.” He remembers the disbelief in Bruce’s eyes then, watching like a cautious mother bear as Jim pulled away, smoothing out his suit coat.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” even though he’d wanted to say “You’re Batman”.

And Dick was suddenly back at Bruce’s side, as if he’d never left, as if nothing could keep him from his rightful place beside his mentor, and guardian.

And then, not ten minutes later, Jim remembers realizing that he doesn’t care how heavy the bat is, or how hard Atlas has it. He will carry this burden until he can’t, and then he’s sure Barbara will for him. Because he’s sure she knows too.


End file.
